Much Ado About Bluebottles

Pages

Thursday, September 29, 2016

Tr'lia got used to the smells faster than she'd expected.
Her curiosity over Mr. Steen's specimens helped, kept her mind distracted,
focused. After the first day she learned to keep one eye on the cages at all
times, and now she walked with a permanent tilt to the head, with her neck
twisting to whatever side the wall and the banks of glass domes were on.

It carried over to home sometimes, and her parents had taken
to tsking when they caught her looking suspiciously at the walls. "It's
not becoming," her mother complained. "How will you ever find a mate
walking around with your head to one side?"

Tr'lia only fluffed at the reprimand and did her best to
keep work at work, but Mr. Steen had so much to teach her. He had plants she'd
never even heard of, and though she never lost her respect for the threat they
posed, her intellectual interest eased any fear she'd carried into the
chemist's cave. She studied the books he assigned late into the night, and
spent long days grinding his powders and learning to weigh and measure with
absolute precision.

Which should have distracted her from pining for black
feathers and a green crest. She had so little time to think, and yet, somehow
those moments when she could breathe filled quickly with ideas of P'rao, with
wondering what his work looked like, where he flew, and whether or not he'd
been sent into danger.

Working with the aerie chemist every day, her mind was often
focused on danger.

"T'rlia, child. Have you ground that violensis
yet?" The old quail's voice reverberated through the cave. For an aging
bird, Mr. Steen had a fair set of pipes. The acoustics in his laboratory vug
helped too, and T'rlia cringed at the volume and clacked her beak.

She'd had to learn not to use it for stirring or grasping, a
hard reflex to kill but one that could be fatal when dealing with the chemicals
they used. Her toes clutched the pestle and mortar of violensis powder, nearly
done, and her beak remained idle... also dangerous. The quail's fussiness got
on her nerves, and she didn't want to lose her job by talking back or arguing.

"Nearly done." She sang it to the back wall.
"Just a few more spoonfuls left."

Mr. Steen waddled to the front of his cave anyway. He stood
beside her while she finished, standing on one foot and then the other and making
a churring sound in his throat that set her hands to shaking.When she handed him the bowl of powder, he
focused one eye on it and squinted.

"Eh." His crest bobbled. "Nice and fine...
almost uniform."

Tr'lia knew better than to thank him. She'd had to stifle
that reflex as well, as any response to a compliment from the chemist usually
led to a lecture on the finer points that she'd yet to master.

"Do the bloomifer next. Medium grade, eleven grams and
not a grain more."

"Yes, sir." She bobbed her head and searched the
worktable and the supplies he'd readied for her day's work. "I-I'm not
seeing any bloomifer."

"Use the tongs." Steen called over his shoulder.
"Three leaves. Very carefully."

Tr'lia's breast fluttered. He wanted her to harvest them? The
quail's fat backside vanished back into his lab, rocking with his usual
trundling gait. If he suspected her hesitation, it didn't show. He'd given the
order matter-of-factly, as if she had been harvesting the plants directly this
whole time.

Was he testing her?

She plucked the tongs from her table and hopped off the
perch. She'd seen him do it, of course. He'd pointed out the steps,
demonstrated the technique and taught her ways to distract the plant while he
snipped a leaf here and there.

But she'd never opened one herself. Never been allowed to
touch the glass domes.

The cave floor felt gritty, covered in a find sheen of dust
particle s. Tr'lia's claws scritched at it as she hopped to the front most
portion of the cave where the banks of plants made a museum of danger and a
deterrent to any visitors aside from Steen's delivery men.

Those came at sporadic intervals, most wearing vests like
P'rao had worn. Tr'lia sighed and shuffled her way to the bloomifer domes. At
least he hadn't sent her for Violet Death. Those nasty plants all crowded to
the glass as she passed, tasting their walls as if they could get at her, a
threatening gesture and one she believed was intentionally so.

The Night Blooms had fewer tendrils, and the main stalk
shaped into a sort of indigo funnel. They had less mobility than the violensis
and primarily waited for things to happen along and fall into their open maw.
Tiny hairs lined that, assisted the descent of any bug or critter unlucky
enough to slip inside. The base of the funnel had a crown of fat whitish-green
leaves, and it was these that Mr. Steen would need for his powders.

Tr'lia used the long tongs to pry
the dome cap loose, but she left it in place while she reached for a vial of
fruit flies. Steen kept dozens of colonies of feeder insects. He'd shown her
how to distract the plant, how to shake the vial over the funnel mouth in
offering while her tongs robbed the plant of its treasures. He hadn't, however,
warned her about her nerves, about how her wingtips would shake and fumble.

She lay the tongs in reach beside
the enclosure and lifted the cap from the bloomifer's cage. Her other wing
tightened around the flies, but the vial still trembled in her grip. Instead of
shaking a few free, a wad of writhing wings and legs tumbled into the cage.
Only half of them landed inside the funnel. The rest dispersed instantly,
swarming over the leaves she needed, the damp moss, and soil substrate below.

The flies swarmed up the glass,
and Tr'lia scrambled to replace the top of the dome. Glass met glass, ringing a
low echo through the cave. The lid slipped, teetered on the cage rim and left a
winking gap to tempt the flies. All the while, the funnel's hairs rippled and
drew the few unlucky bugs down into the depth of the plant. Tr'lia still had no
leaves, the digestion wouldn't keep the plant busy much longer, and her grip on
the dome slipped and risked dropping the glass to the floor.

"Oh, tail feathers!"

"Easy." Out of nowhere,
a new voice answered her curse. A black wingtip reached from the cave behind
her to steady the teetering glass. "Got it."

"Thanks." Tr'lia took
advantage of the unexpected assistance and released the cap to the interloper's
grip. She snatched up her tongs and stoppered the flies' vial at the same time,
laying the latter beside the bloomifer cage and pointing the tongs toward the
cap. "Can you crack it, just a little?"

On command the dome lid slid, just
a fraction, to one side. She moved as quickly as her shaking wings would allow,
determined now that she had an audience. Tr'lia used the tongs to herd the
flies back down the side, then she plucked a white-green leaf and removed it,
diving back in as soon as she'd lain it beside he cage. Once she'd retrieved
all three of Steen's precious leaves, she nodded and let out an exhalation
laced with the last dregs of her panic.

"That's good. Thank you."
Her knees popped when she relaxed them. Her heart pattered, but the job was
done. She had three leaves and a safely re-covered cage... thanks to the
assistance of whoever waited behind her now. "I'm sorry, I..."

Tr'lia turned while wiping her
wingtips on her smock. She froze at the sight of the delivery bird, at the
sheen of his black feathers and the overly-amused tilt to his green head.

"P'rao." Her breath
rushed away with his name.

"I've got something for
you." His round eyes flashed with mischief, and his slender beak slid top
against bottom to punctuate the sentence, make the tone carry all sorts of
implications.

"You do?"

"A delivery for Chemist
Steen." P'rao snapped upright, stretched his milker's vest and waved one
wing in the direction of a new box waiting on the cave floor behind him.
"Priority package."

Again his beak ground out an
innuendo. Tr'lia's cheek feathers fluffed. She bobbed an answer, but her words
had formed a clay lump in her throat.

"Then," Pr'ao leaned
closer, brought his plumage directly into contact with hers. His beak hovered
beside her cheek, and his voice dropped down an octave. "I'm going to
search your aerie for the hen I'm in love with."

The blockage in her throat
shattered, came out as a choked cackle. Her feathers prickled from head to
tail, but Pr'ao only leaned nearer, drew the very tip of his beak through the
feathers on her neck.

"I don't suppose you can tell
me where she's hiding?" He whispered. "Because this is the last place
I'd expected to find her."

"Maybe." Tr'lia's voice
squeaked, and she had to swallow and start again. "Maybe she's waiting for
you somewhere... somewhere you're likely to turn up."

"Ah." He stepped away so
quickly that his body made a vacuum, pulled her in his direction so that she
teetered and had to spread her wings for balance. "Good thinking."

"What?"

The cave began to spin as he hopped
away. He paused for a second beside his delivery, just long enough to look back
over his shoulder and wink at her again. Then his eyes flashed, he dipped into
a too-formal bow, and leaped out of the cave.

Tr'lia swayed in place. What had
just happened? I'm in love with? Too
fast, and yet, her feet longed to rush to the cave mouth. Her beak wanted to
chirp for him to come back. When a green and black streak, flashed past the
mouth of the chemist's vug, her heart rocketed with it.

Pr'ao's voice called to her, far
too amused with itself. He offered one last taunt before he vanished again, leaving
her frustrated and completely in the dark. "Very good thinking!"

Thursday, May 5, 2016

P'rao scuffed the dust with his talons and watched the
entrance to the meeting cave for any sign ofMeech. His buddy had vanished into the low opening moments before, and
though the mouth of the cave enjoyed a steady stream of birds both coming and
going, Meech failed to reappear fast enough for P'rao's nerves.

He slicked his crest down and hopped on one foot beside the
basin well that served the outpost staff of Milkers, messengers and support
workers. Hurry up, dummy. He bounced
to the other foot. Meech failed to spawn in the long cave mouth, despite his
friend's impatience.

"Where are ya, buddy?"

The Heron across the well turned a long beak toward P'rao.
He'dbrought a long stick with buckets
hanging from the end to the water, and held one half in and one half out of the
basin.

They'd been at the borders for two weeks now, two long weeks
with only the dull work and the occasional rebellious appearance of a Master
Plant to keep his mind off a certain hen. Neither was working. He just couldn't
get Tr'lia out of his head, and his distraction had started to affect his work.

Not to mention his friendship with Meech.

Maybe his best bud had ditched him for better company inside
the meeting hall. He'd probably asked too much, but then, Meech had contacts he
didn't. Meech was always the one to make friends, to chum around with the other
Milkers and, more importantly, the messengers and delivery fliers who just
might have a mission to a particular aerie.

The plan had been Meech's idea, but P'rao suspected he'd
formulated it out of disgust. Maybe just to get P'rao to shut up about Tr'ia
and maybe just to earn himself some alone time. He didn't care. If Meech was
tired of his whining, then he could hurry up and find a Milker who wanted a few
days off.

"Come on!" He flipped his crest up and stamped the
earth. The heron finished with his water and stalked away, shoulders hunched
under the weight across his wings. The cave spit out another crowd of Milkers,
and P'rao twisted his neck in an attempt to spot Meech in the flock.

"Hey." Meech's voice came from behind him.

P'rao squawked and jumped into the air. He threw out black
wings, staggered to one side and then dropped back to the ground in a puff of
dust.

"Your friend's a little tense."

P'rao spun to face Meech and a taller, lanky blackbird with
a fully pocketed Milker's vest, a sash full of tools across his breast, and a
highly judgmental scowl in the set of his beak.

"This is P'rao." Meech fluffed his chest and
titled his head to one side. "He's lost his mind."

"Shame," the Milker grinned now, clackedhis beak and nudged Meech with one wing.
"Not sure I can trust a loon with one of my deliveries."

"Wait." P'rao's heart fluttered in his breast like
a newly molted sparrow. "Please."

"Skirl has a delivery coming up in the Northern Reach,"
Meech said. He shot P'rao a warning look and rolled his eyes toward the Milker.
"And he's willing to let you take in exchange for your next shift
weeding."

"I could use a little rest and relaxation," Skirl
said. "And you ladies have it easy cleaning up the fronts. Trust me."

"We do." Again, Meech glared a warning. "He
does."

"And I'll trust him with the delivery." Skirl
leaned forward, titled his head and gave P'rao a once over, slowly, raking his
gaze up and down until P'rao's feet longed to be shifting. He held his ground
though, held his breath until the older bird laughed again. "All right,
but if you mess it up, I know where to find you."

"You better." Skirl stared at him a second more
and the shrugged, turned his eyes to the sky and fluffed his head feathers.
"It'll be nice to pull some weeds again for a few days."

He stretched his wings and flexed his claws, scratching at
the ground for purchase. "You can pick it up tomorrow at sunup. I'll tell
them to look for a green crest."

"Thanks." P'rao stumbled out of the way when the
Milker took off. He watched the black tail feathers pass and then shifted to
his other foot and stared at the well. "Thanks to you too, Meech. I owe
you one."

"Darn right you do." Meech chirped and bounced in
place. "Skirl could have us both for lunch if he liked."

"Well, I appreciate it anyway." He did too. In
fact, he felt it in his chest now, a knot of appreciation and anticipation. Mostly
anticipation. Still. Meech had worked it out. Now he'd be winging his way
toward the Northern Reach first thing tomorrow. The feeling in his breast
tightened. Kind of a forward move, wasn't it? What if she didn't want to see
him? How would he explain just showing up on her aerie door?

"You okay, buddy?"

"You think this is a good idea, Meech"

"Hell no." Meech chuckled, a rumbling that shook
him from tail to tip. "It's a horrible idea. You're gonna run after that
hen and get yourself caught in a nest before we can even earn our full
vests!"

"That' not what I meant."

"I know what you meant. I don't have an answer for
that. Either the hen wants to see you or she doesn't." He clicked his beak
and hopped a step farther from P'rao. "One good thing, though."

"What's that?"

"At least if you find out, you won't be impossible to
live with anymore!"

"Don't be so sure of that." P'rao advanced on his
friend, but Meech continued hopping, kept his fat body just a step out of
reach. Smart, but then, Meech knew him better than anyone. He chased after his
buddy and felt the tension unfurl with each bounce.

One way or the other. Meech had a point. What else could he
do but fly north and find out?

Thursday, March 17, 2016

The cave yawned near the bottom of the aerie wall, in the
public area but far enough from the social vugs to be secluded. Marked for
business and not fun. Tr'lia flew past it twice before fixing her eyes on the
rim and coming in for a soft landing, perched right on the edge of the opening.

The aroma of fungus met her, a wall of thick spore-laden air
hovering just inside the cave, filling it. Already, it choked her nostrils. And
she meant to work here? She puffed her neck feathers and stood taller. She did
mean to... if the old chemist would
have her.

Tr'lia's sharp toes scratched at the dirt as she stepped
into the darkness. Soft here, no dust inside the chemist's cage. The mushroom
caverns were worse. She'd visited those once with her primary class, seen the
darkness and the rows of glowing, ghost white caps. The air here reminded her
of that cave, though the walls were much closer and the scent far fainter.

He didn't grow them here. The old quail might use the spores
and spongy flesh of the 'shrooms, but they were only part of his fare. One
ingredient, the one they could produce inside the safety of the aerie. The rest
of his chemicals came from a stream of regular deliveries. Shipments brought
from the milker's camps.

"Come in, come in. I'm in the back." A throaty
voice echoed through the cave. Not as big as the 'shroom cavern but still a
good sight larger than her home. The darkness stretched deeper into the valley
wall too, and the natural light only filtered in a little farther. Beyond that
half light, Tr'lia could make out the glow of oil lamps, and a variety of
colors, translucent reflections in patterns along the curved walls.

She tiptoed deeper into the odd world of the chemist. Here,
all the medicines that kept their flock healthy brewed and cured. Here, the old
quail ground the milker's herbs into powders or boiled them into teas and
tinctures for a number of uses Tr'lia could only guess at.

She clicked her beak softly and hopped deeper into the cave.
Lili had told her about the assistant's marriage. The hen who'd apprenticed
with the chemist had found a mate at the festival, moved to his aerie only a
week afterwards. The chemist hadn't asked for a new assistant, but the way
Tr'lia saw it, he hadto need one.
Either that or she was about to make a fool of herself.

Drat Lili for suggesting this.

She slicked her feathers down and lowered her head,
considered just hopping right back out into the light and the open.

"I'll be right with you." The chemist's voice rang
against the walls, battered at her from both sides.

Tr'lia crept forward. She hopped nearer to the glowing,
found her eyes adjusting more quickly than her brain. Light boxes against the
wall, shelving and something shiny and familiar. Glass domes. She'd seen
similar at the festival when she'd bought her bluebottles... and that book.

Her claws dragged snakey lines in the cave floor now. Tr'lia
moved without lifting her feet, slunk toward the domes and the lights and knew
what would be growing under the glass long before she saw the first plant.

Curling green leaves, fat and sticky and packed into the
lower half of the dome. Droplets of moisture collected inside the glass,
refracting the light from the oil lamp on the shelf behind the container.

Tr'lia leaned forward, held her breath and followed the tendrils up to a fat, snaggletooth
purple maw.

"Violet death," the quail's baritone rumbled
behind her.

Tr'lia jumped upright and spun to face him. She tucked her
tail low and hopped a step away from the wall without upsetting any of the
shelf's contents. The chemist waited just outside the glow of the plant's
light. His little head tilted to one side, and his curled crest bobbed.

"Carnivorous, but very useful if handled
correctly."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Steen." Tr'lia bobbed
politely.

"Don't get many visitors in here." His head
switched to the other side, setting the bobble crest a flutter. "Tr'lia,
isn't it?"

"Lili!" Tr'lia's cheeks puffed in embarrassment.
Had dratted Lili told the entire aerie her secret? Heat filled her breast, and
she ground her beak together before blurting, "She's nesting too."

"Now, now." The chemist lifted one foot and let it
hover for a moment, as if he'd forgotten which way he wanted to step.
"Nothing to be ashamed of. I suspect most girls your age are thinking of
it. No harm to it.None in building the
thing anyway. From what I hear of it, takes a few times to get it right
anyway."

He had that part dead right. She'd started over three times
already, but at least she was weaving. Lili seemed content to hoard nesting
material in piles and do nothing with it at all.

"I wonder if you found my corner down here by
accident," Mr. Steen continued. "My processes don't cast off much in
the way of nest stuffs."

"Oh no. I didn't come here for that." She forced her cheek feathers back down and
tried to hold her head up.

"No?"

"I just wondered if... I mean I'd heard something
about..."

Mr. Steen rocked in place. He put his foot down again,
lifted the other one and blinked round eyes at her. "Yes dear, what is
it?"

"I heard you might be looking for a new
assistant."

"Did you?" He fluffed his neck feathers, shook and
sent a small rain of down flying in all direction. "I haven't even... ah.
Lili again?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well. She certainly has a bit of a beak on her, eh?
Hmm. No harm done, I suppose but..." He hopped forward abruptly, rocking
from side to side and forcing Tr'lia to scoot back a step. The quail's head
turned sharply to the left,and one big
eye leaned in to examine her. "Why would a newly nesting hen want to
apprentice here? Do you know what it is I do?"

"Y-yes, sir." Tr'lia swallowed a wash of nerves
and forced her head to stay level, her feathers to remain smooth. "I've
been keeping bluebottles, sir. They've grown so fast they've already molted
twice."

"First lesson!" Mr. Steen jumped in place. He
shouted the words, and Tr'lia cringed back despite her resolve. The quail
chuckled, made a waving flag of his crest. "Never, my dear. Never turn
your back on a plant."

"Oh!" She watched his wingtip lift, the long
flight feather pointing behind her. Slowly, Tr'lia swiveled back toward the
shelves and the glass dome. Inside, the green had unfurled. The purple had
shifted. The plant's long fronds pressed against the side of the glass, feeling
for a way to reach her from behind that barrier. The mouth oozed clear fluid.
It opened and closed and opened again. The toothy appendage fluttered as if a
wind moved over them.

"It's tasting you." The quail's voice rumbled the
obvious answer. The plant, once she'd turned from it, had sprang to attention
and now only the glass kept it from tasting her for real.

Tr'lia's body stiffened. Inside, she cringed from the idea
of that mouth, those waving teeth. She fought her instincts, the rising panic
and the push to flee. This would be her test, then. If she bolted now, she'd
never earn a place here, never prove she was brave enough to date a milker.

To deserve Prao.

She breathed a beak full of must and spores. Her heart
fluttered like the quail's bobble, but Tr'lia forced her panic down. She kept
her feathers smooth, imagined Prao flying into the jungles, facing the real
dangers. She took a step forward, leaned in and peered at the hungry plant's mouth.

Monday, February 25, 2013

P’rao
adjusted his angle and dropped like a stone until his talons just hovered over
the wispy grasses. He flexed his claws and twisted to see Meech on his right,
just now descending to a skimming altitude. Beyond his friend, the green wall
that marked the edge of safe territory loomed. Glossy leaves waved, snapping
like deadly flags and gleaming in the low sunlight.

Death waited
just inside, and it meant to spread if they let it.

His claws
tightened, snagging a tuft of errant grass and ripping the twisty roots free
from their territory. He liked that sound. It reminded him that the plains were
free and safe to his people. It reminded him that they had a hand in keeping
things that way.

Meech tore
at his own tufts, and they filled their claws with the strands until they could
hold no more. When they angled up, the two milkers left a clean swath of dirt
in their wake, a long strip of fresh border to keep the Master plants out.

P’rao cawed
and lifted into the warmer rays. He fluffed at the shoulder and enjoyed the
warmth alongside his small triumph. They weren’t actual milkers just yet, more
like juniors in training, but their horizon was as bright as the desert behind
them. Eventually, they’d brave the jungles with the rest of their kind.

And what
would Tr’lia think of that?

He clicked
his beak and snapped his long flight feathers, banking sharply toward the
baskets where the grasses were collected. Once they’d been safely uprooted, the
aeries had many uses for the sparse fibers—not the least of which was nest
building.

Meech was
right, damn it. He had mating on the brain. Mating and a bright yellow breast
that might not relish the idea of him sneaking into Master plant territory.

“You missed,
idiot!” Meech squeaked at his shoulder. “You dropped that load back on the
ground.”

“Huh?” Prao
twisted his neck around and spied his mistake. The cart minder already pecked
at his lost strands, stuffing them into the basket and murmuring curses in his
direction. “Ooops.”

“I can’t
imagine what distracted you.” Meech
waited for him to bristle, and when he refused added softly, “or who.”

The stork at
the cart bounced on long legs and clapped at them, but P’rao angled again,
circled wide and then dove in for another pass along the border. He flattened
his quills tight and streaked far enough ahead of Meech that he didn’t have to
hear his friend’s grumbling.

His second
pass ended with both his fists overflowing with grass. He’d stretched his claws
a bit, but this time, the fibers ended up neatly where they belonged, the cart
minder ignored his delivery and Meech kept his beak shut.

The grasses
always invaded first. Invisible roots wriggled out from the jungles, hidden
beneath the hard-packed plain and only bursting into view when their sub
structure was well established. They opened the way for the higher ups, for the
plants that could use their nodes and pathways to organize, to plan a more
significant advance.

A bare
border was a safe one, and P’rao dove again with his resolve set even more
firmly. They kept the plants at bay. They trimmed to borders, and eventually
they’d brave the long flights over the jungle, the dangerous missions into the
heart of Plant territory to retrieve medicines, fruits and seed for
domestication and controlled food production.

Their lives
depended on this much. All their lives and any future he might hope for. He
made two more passes to Meech’s one and then tucked wing and dropped behind the
line of carts for a drink and a moment’s rest.

The grass
carts filled slowly. This stretch of boundary had been weeded only a few weeks
prior. Their team had been assigned for maintenance more than anything, but
still they found spiky grasses wandering into their world.

P’rao drank from the minders’ buckets, leaned
against the back of one cart and watched the Rhino beetle in the traces of
another shift its weight from one leg to the next. It’s gigantic, domed
carapace shimmered like the distant leaves. Emerald green, metallic and harmless
compared to the foliage it resembled. Even with the heavy horn protruding from
the beast’s head.

Meech landed
between them, his dust puffs blocking out any further view of the draft beetle.
P’rao ignored his grimace, the nasty clacking of his friend’s beak. He let his
gaze drift instead out toward the jungle in the distance. The green wall
shimmered in the sunlight, but just then, something about the way the fronds
moved spoke of more than hot air and unreliable vision.

He stood up
and craned to see better, bouncing and arching his wings for takeoff.

“Where are
you…” Meech started a question, but the words died as quickly as P’rao’s
intended flight.

The both
froze and listened to the jungle howl. The cart minders stopped fidgeting. The
flights still in the air banked away from the green swath, from the wall that
trembled and danced now, screaming and hissing at them in the frenzied speech of
many joined plant minds. A wave rolled across the leaves, down the horizon in
one serpentine ripple. The scream rose in volume, and the foliage broke at the
top.

One, giant
green orb lifted from the canopy. It snaked straight up on a fat stalk lined
with wispy hairs. The cranium twisted, turned left and right and then focused
on their position. Even at this distance, P’rao judged just that head to be
four times his size, at the very least. The sight of it set his plumage
spiking. His beak ground together at the same instance the Master plant opened
its huge, sticky maw and howled its fury to the sky.

Sunday, March 11, 2012

She tugged on a bit of grass, and the strands parted from the mat, pulling free. Tr’lia held the smaller bit in her beak and hopped two bounces to the right. The fiber had cost her the rest of her festival money, and it wasn’t very good quality at that, but it would do for a start. She used her clawed toes to twist the strands and then poked with her beak so that the tight end joined the weaving she’d already begun on the cave floor.

She’d never made a nest before.

It looked awful, just a clump of half-twisted, dry old grass half as big as it should be for the time it had taken. Tr’lia sighed and pulled at a corner. The bottom needed to be the stoutest, even though she planned to add a good deal more fibers to its construction to hide the rugged beginnings. Her nest would need a firm foundation if she meant it to last. She tucked and tweaked and fiddled with the last bit before bouncing back to the fiber bundle. More layers might do it. More depth, and then it needed to be a lot bigger—big enough for two someday.

She stabbed the pillow again and clicked around, feeling for a stouter blade, a reed that might reinforce her nest’s bottom. A squeak from the cave mouth stalled her probing and brought her up sputtering. Lili. It was only a matter of time.

“Hello,” Tr’lia ignored the puffed up blue ball of indignation in her doorway. She turned back to her next selection and waited.

“Your. You.”

She felt a thicker stalk and snapped it up. Eureka, the blade had a woody, rounded stem, and pulled out a good two spans longer than the rest. Strong floor material.

“Yourmothersaidyouwerenesting!”

“Oh.” Tr’lia nearly dropped the blade for chuckling. “That. Right.” She hopped to the nest and tucked the thick end into one side. Long enough to criss-cross the bit she’d already woven at least. She wouldn’t have to undo it and start over, though she might need to trade for something extra pretty to hide it.

“And?” Lili recovered and hopped into the cave interior. The space barely held both of them. Starter caves were meant to be cozy. “Does your mother know why?”

“Shush, Lili.” She stood up too fast and pulled out the last two loops of grass. “You promised to keep that quiet.”

“I know.”

“Good.”

“Weren’t you even going to tell me?” Lili’s feathers smoothed, halving her bulk, and she shuffled her feet against the stone floor.

“Of course. I just wanted to have something to show you first.”

“Is that it?”

“It’s harder than it looks.” Tr’lia sighed and worked the tail of the grass into the weave. “And I’ll hide most of this with feathers. It just has to be strong.”

“I can’t believe your mother let you start.” Lili pressed forward and examined the nest's beginnings, head turned sharply to one side and beak grinding together softly.

“It’s only a little bit early. They’ve had the cave since my hatching day.”

“Mine too. It’s nice, Tr’lia.”

“It’s really small.”

“Mine’s smaller.” Lili clattered her beak and bobbed her head forward and back. “I’d better find a tiny little man.”

The cave warbled with laughter. Tr’lia tried to eye her work critically, but it blurred a bit around the edges. She’d always thought Lili would nest first. It just seemed like a Lili sort of thing, nesting. She sighed and shifted her weight to the other foot. It was only a little bit early.

“You know,” Lili said. “I have some ribbons saved. There’s too much to use in one place. You could have a little bit for the sides or around the top.”

“Thanks, Lili.”

“Maybe I’ll start one soon too.”

“Hopefully yours will weave a little better. Look at that bubble.”

“It’s nice, Tr’lia.”

It wasn’t. Still, she’d only just started. Building the nest would keep her busy, keep her mind from thinking of killer plants and long-distance romance. She fluffed and shook the tension off. He’d said he was coming back. He’d said he’d find a way to see her. She looked at Lili through a rain of dislodged down and tried not to panic.

And if P’rao did return, at least she could have something here for him to come back to. She snagged a bit of fluff from mid-air and waved it at Lili.